Funeral
by Mimi-Rose01
Summary: Christine is invited to Madame Giry's funeral by Meg ten years after Don Juan. She goes to lay things to rest.


1891 (Ten Years Later)

Christine waved to Raoul as the train pulled away. He kept waving to her until she couldn't see him anymore. Soon the train left Toulouse behind and Christine was alone. It finally seemed to dawn on Christine what she was doing. She reasoned with herself, she was seeing an old friend and paying her respects at Madame Giry's funeral. Maybe she'd learn something, probably not. What was she afraid of? Was he going to pop up at the cemetery like all those years ago?

Was he?

No, if he was still alive, at least in France, she'd know. Somehow. Why? They never found him, did they? She remembered the man hunt in the papers. They'd scoured the whole city, and beyond. Rumors had exaggerated his already unbelievable deeds. She remembered one man had described the underground domain as a pit of skulls, where even the bones of children had been picked clean. She resented these people. But even with those rumors, he'd disappeared like the shade he'd pretended to be. Even after all these years, there was no way he'd be in Paris.

Why was she doing this? Everything was fine now. She only had the dreams on occasion. She was happy. Very happy.

Madame Emmeline Giry. A part of her past she'd never get back. A woman she'd never cleared things up with. She'd taken a chance on Christine. Let her live in her home. Encouraged her friendship with her daughter. Yet all Christine could hear in her mind was, " _ **He**_ _will be pleased_." Still, she'd helped Raoul. For all the good it had done.

She stopped trying to read and stared out the window for the next two hours, overcome with unease.

She disembarked from the train. She was tired and annoyed from dragging her bags around. She could see rain out the windows. She was unsettled by how empty the station was. Was this not Paris?

Then she noticed what must be Meg and two others, a man and a woman who looked to be brother and sister. Meg wore black, and looked not a day older. Regal, beautiful, and broken. She faced away. She wanted to run back on the train. Go back to Raoul and tell him she'd made a dreadful mistake. What's dead is dead and what's done is done and cannot be undone.

"Christine."

She flinched and then turned, "Yes, what is it?" It was the man who had been standing with Meg.

"Come with us, you are staying with Meg, yes?" He asked.

"Yes, are you Monsieur Rémy?" She asked. She looked over the man she suspected to be Meg's husband. He looked to be a few years older than Meg, going gray faster and earlier than most. His face had a grim expression, which she guessed was normal for him. She doubted he smiled much, though more out of serious professionalism than contempt or bitterness. Suddenly it dawned on her that he wore no wedding ring, "Oh excuse me, I must be mistaken."

"No indeed, you are correct. My apologies for using your first name, I am just used to you being referred to as such by my wife and her late mother. You may call me Henri if you so desire. I am pleased to welcome you to our home, Lady de Chagny."

Christine wondered if Henri had ever been pleased in his entire life "Christine is fine."

He nodded. Christine joined the group and went to a coach waiting outside.

Christine hurried in, the downpour was starting to get worse. She'd never get used to Lady de Chagny. The "de Chagny" didn't bother her, but the "Lady" did. She'd spent to much time begging to ever think she'd be called "Lady". Because of her career choice, despite her marriage many still called her Daaé. She brushed the thoughts out of her head. It was only a title. Still, names -titles- held power. She _was_ a Lady, with a not perfect but nice husband, and two beautiful children. Yet everyday she looked over her shoulder. Waiting for the body to drop out of the rafters. She missed being able to look at beautiful things without wondering what they were hiding.

She sat quietly next to Henri. He had pushed himself into the corner and was reading a book even as they started to go over the bumpiest streets. Sitting across from Christine was the woman she presumed to be Henri's sister. The woman was clutching Meg's hand tightly. They both looked like people who had cried for so long that they supposed they'd never cry again. They were wrong, somehow there was always more, in Christine's experience. Christine caught herself looking into Meg's eyes, Meg gave her a steely gaze, and looked away. The girl who had briefly long ago been a sister was new Meg radiated a powerful bitterness.

They rode in silence.

Eventually they reached their destination. Henri disembarked first, then the woman, who reached to help Meg out, but then changed her mind. Henri helped Christine and Meg get out, stiffly as always.

"Christine, we aren't sure which room you are staying in at present. Once we figure it out do not hesitate to have your bags moved there," he said.

The place was three stories and an attic, fairly nice. The inside was light on decorations. A thick fog of melancholy and grimness descended from every corner. The place was well lit, but every shadow seemed magnified. Every shadow seemed like a creature was about to crawl out of it. Though Madame Giry was dead and gone now, it was still a house of death and disease. Christine fought the urge to run the hundreds of kilometers back to Toulouse, straight into Raoul's arms. Her children, who had been rubbing yogurt into each other's hair right before she left, were beacons.

"Christine, would you care for dinner?" the woman said.

No, she didn't, "Ah, yes. Thank you. What is your name again?"

"Adrienne Rémy, I am Henri's little sister. Meg and I have been close friends for a while." Adrienne's face twisted into a smile that screamed desperation. She pointed down the hall, "We have a place for eating. Yes, let's just-" as Christine had predicted, tears welled up in her eyes once again.

Christine smiled the smile that could get a murderer to stay his hand, "Adrienne, were you and Madame Giry close?"

A dark look passed through Adrienne's tear filled eyes, "Absolutely not. She was amongst the cruelest women I have ever known. I fear-" she sniffled, "I fear her ghost, her spirit of _meanness_ has possessed my dear Meg."

Christine remembered Madame Giry as stern but fair, not cruel. She tentatively placed a hand on Adrienne's shoulder, and felt Adrienne untense, "You seem like a good person, I'm sure we will get through this. I'll do my best."

"Adrienne!" Meg yelled from a nearby room.

They hurried into the dining room where Henri and Meg were.

"I'm sorry Adrienne, I didn't mean to shout." Meg's demeanor softened for the first time in hours, "I've been talking to Henri and he has decided that he wants dinner out. I'm sure Christine is exhausted from traveling, so she and I will stay here."

"It's fine, I'm used to traveling, if you want to go out we can," Christine said.

Meg sighed, "I am tired then, I am staying. You wouldn't want to leave a mourner all by her lonesome, would you? Not when we have so much catching up to do."

Christine realized that Meg wanted to speak to her alone.

This is why she'd come.

She'd hoped to put it all off until tomorrow, but no such luck.

Meg sat at the table. Adrienne went to her and whispered in her ear, Meg waved her off. Meg's eyes followed Adrienne and Henri out the door. She sighed. Finally she met Christine's eyes.

With her hair done up tightly on her head, and a stiff black mourning gown, Christine could finally see the resemblance between mother and daughter.

They were interrupted by food being brought in. Christine had skipped lunch in the chaos of traveling and abandoned the tense atmosphere to just eat. They'd have plenty of time to talk afterwards, she decided.

Meg ate almost nothing. She stared at her soup bowl, occasionally glancing at Christine when she thought Christine wasn't looking. Her cold composure was melting.

Christine despaired that she'd been so hungry, if she'd eaten slower she could have put things off longer. She tried to drink the wine she'd been offered at an agonizing pace. What she would give for an entire bottle. She heard a cough from the other end of the table.

"So Christine, what have you been doing with your life?" Meg asked.

"Singing."

Meg _smiled_ , "I could have guessed."

"Oh, and raising my children," Christine added.

"Ah, how nice. What are they called?" Meg's smile weakened.

"Artémise, and Emmeline."

Meg dropped her soup spoon with a thunk on the table. She took a long shaky breath, "Oh, Christine." she picked the spoon back up and tightened her grip, "You should have told her, when she could have heard you."

"We all make mistakes."

"What was my mistake Christine? _Not being you?_ Her knuckles went white and there was ice in her eyes, "Not being able to go back in time, and fix this my mother's miserable existence?"

"Is this why you married him?" Christine asked.

"Henri has the patience of a saint. He is a good man. I will always be in his debt," Meg said.

"You don't love him?" Christine wondered why she was asking these things. Morbid curiosity. When has being curious ever worked out for her?

"No. I don't. He doesn't love me either. I thought it would make mother happy, but she was beyond happiness." Meg was going to a dark place, "Do you think she wanted to be the old crone everyone was afraid of? Constantly disrespected? She had dreams. She loved my father but he didn't love her. Then he left one day. What do you think happens to the child that has his face?"

Christine sat in silence. None of these things were her fault. In fact, they didn't seem to have much to do with her at all. She'd just have to let Meg let it out.

"She took people in because she thought she could fix them. My father, that man, you. She loved you. She saw herself in you. Her younger self before she gave up hope. She pushed you to succeed, she praised you. But she pushed you to far. Then came the guilt. I don't doubt that you were pulled into some folly, but she blamed herself for it. I told her she should talk to you, but she refused. Then came the anger, towards herself, towards me," Meg paused and shook her head, "I was never a creature of ambition like you Christine. If I had been she wouldn't have been quite so unkind."

"A creature of ambition? I hardly think-"

"How many after going through whatever you did, would have kept going? Kept singing? You are made of stronger stuff than I, than any of us." The anger was dying down now, "I'm sorry Christine, none of that is your fault. I just wish you'd written to me more. Did I do something wrong? I wrote to you and you pushed me away. I don't have many friends anymore. I'm probably taking over my mother's position at the opera."

Christine looked ashamed, she might as well tell the truth. She prepared herself mentally for being thrown out, and said, "I pushed you away because you reminded me of the past. I'm sorry."

Meg nodded, "I suppose I lived in the past with my mother all these years. It's time to kill the past. Shred it and let it float down the Seine." Meg got up, "Come on, let me show you your inheritance."

Christine followed Meg to a locked door up the stairs. Inside was a bed covered in cream colored sheets. Christine almost could make out the impression of a frail dying woman in the pillows. A black shroud of sorts covered the full length mirror standing in the corner. Christine had not flinched at the thought of a mirror in years, yet this one made her hands tremble. An aura emanated from it. She almost expected Madame Giry to pull the curtain and walk out, cane in hand, and tell Meg to practice harder. She comforted herself with the thought that at least she wasn't in the opera house.

The opera house.

She thought of Apollo's lyre above the city.

The sight had once excited her.

Inside, _that great and unbreakable chandelier._

And below?

Christine settled into a stiff Napoleon III style armchair. It was upholstered in dark gray, and was fraying. The memories came back now. Madame Giry sitting in this chair peering over her glasses she hated to wear. Drinking a coffee and watching, always watching. Sometimes she'd stifle a laugh over some snippet of Meg and Christine's conversation. She'd just sip her black coffee, trying her best not to spit it all over the carpet. Now she was dead, and there had been no laughter, or even a tearful goodbye.

Meg retrieved a box from a closet, old and dusty. She walked over to Christine and held it out to her, "I'm not sure what's in here, but she said it was very important that you see it."

Christine took it from Meg and stared at it. No use putting it off more. She slipped open the brown lid and looked inside. Envelopes. Opened ones. The writing on the back was so familiar. It was his handwriting. All of it. She traced the writing with a finger.

No, not all of it. There was one letter with a different hand. This envelope seemed to have something else inside it as well. She noted the absence of a return address, though that was true for all of them. She picked this stranger's message out of the box. She looked inside, and dropped it on the floor with a gasp.

"What is it?" Meg's eyes filled with shock.

Christine gripped the arms of the chair tightly, "The ring."

Meg looked to be thinking for a moment, "That ring he gave you, during his opera?" Meg didn't wait for a response, she picked the envelope off the floor and handed it to Christine.

"Thank you, Meg. That was childish of me," Christine said, head bowed. She fished the ring out and placed it on a small table next to her. She would deal with it later. Later. She pulled the letter out and immediately noticed blood stains, fingerprints on the bottom corner. The writing was unfamiliar and frantic. It read,

"Hello, I have a message from a mutual friend. He says that he will

That I will be sending some things your way. Some funds, possibly some other odds and ends.

God there is so much blood

He has heard the dancers have improved greatly, he is pleased. I am telling him to get to the point, but he has decided now is a good time

He says he hopes you are well. He's saying he hasn't heard an opera in years now, and he misses it. Oh, and give this letter to Miss Daae. He hopes none of you are afraid. He says he's tired of fear. Miss Daae, he hopes he hasn't ruined your life, but he knows you are stronger than he gave you credit for, so he isn't concerned. He hopes all of you are happy and

Oh, he stopped. He's gone. It's over"

It continued in a less frantic hand, "I put this letter aside for a few weeks as I've been unexpectedly scrambling. I know I have a duty to send it. I know this. I just wanted to add a few more thoughts. He told me a lot about you two, Giry and Daaé. Though admittedly, it was mostly on that night he was quite intoxicated. As the poet says, 'So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.' I feel he embodied this notion, at least from time to time.

Mostly I just wonder, is your voice really that good, Miss Daaé? I sincerely hope so. I hope a voice as he described exists on this earth! Wouldn't that be delightful. I am dubious. As for Giry, he thanks you. He thanked both of you. Profusely. I assume with the two of you around, the opera must be heavenly. I am not too familiar with it. I used to not be interested in music.

I ramble in an unattractive way now. I wish you both the best, though you will not know who I am. I have my own sins my name is attached to. A new one, I left him there. Oh, there was no life left, to be sure. But I left him there in that hovel. It was simply impossible to go back for him. I shall always regret it. Spirits that are denied a proper burial are restless, and he was the most restless of all in life! I doubt it will happen, but I hope he has peace, he is beyond the, oh what was that word he liked, the distortion. He is beyond this distorted world now. Don't forget to pass the ring to Miss Daaé. That is his last will and testament. Good day to you."

The letter ended, unsigned. However, it was dated. Eight years ago, almost to the day. Eight years. This letter had been opened. Madame Giry had had this for eight years, and knew, and didn't say anything. Knew what? This proved nothing. A bloodstain and a ring? This was probably another trick. Another thing to cause her misery. Who was she kidding? He'd let her go but she'd always still been there. Waiting for something to happen. All of her security, all of it was a lie. This was just another lie. She started to breathe quickly. The box fell onto the floor spilling its contents. She stood up, she couldn't tell if she was devastated or angry anymore.

Then she noticed something else, peeking out from under a cloth. A silhouette that struck a chord in her memory. She stalked towards it. Meg tried to push her away but she didn't care. She snatched the covering with a shaking hand, and revealed the truth underneath.

The music box. Her anger abated. She touched the familiar fur. She found herself covering the face. Yes, she remembered it twice before. Once, before her dreadfully mistaken hands had removed the mask. The other time, yes, right after he'd set them free. Kneeling on the floor with tears in his eyes. They both needed to be free. She'd given him the ring and thought maybe that'd be the end of it. But now the ring was back. The chains were back. Still, they were shades of their former selves. If the note was to be believed, perhaps he was truly free now. She could be free too.

She looked at the monkey, ready to crash it's cymbals as if it had only been a five minute break. She wound up the music box with excessive caution so as not to break it. It wasn't actually fragile. As she suspected, the notes played clear as they had ten years previously. Meg and Christine stood in silence as the mechanism continued to unwind. Finally, the notes came to a stop. Christine nodded, she'd made up her mind. She looked at Meg, "We are going to return this to the Opera."

"Now?" Meg questioned.

"Yes, now," Christine said. She put the music box down and handed the letter to Meg.

Meg read it a few times quickly, then looked up, "Yes, I wasn't going to sleep tonight regardless. I am the one who took it. It doesn't belong in this world. It was stealing." She looked at it with a sorrowful expression, "I'll leave a note for Henri and Adrienne."

Through backdoors and various hallways they managed to avoid any staff that'd be loitering about. They wove through the familiar corridors of Christine's young adulthood. Christine felt calm. Numb. She was awake now. The beautiful nightmare and the ugly dream were long over. Yet when they came to her old dressing room she started to feel again. Her grip on the old music box tightened. It felt like it was pulling her down, leading her.

Meg opened the mirror as if she had a thousand times before, snagging an old lantern from Christine's abandoned dusty table. She struck a match and lit it. She gestured to the mirror, "I know the way."

They descended down the pathway. Christine remembered the last time she'd been here. He'd dragged her, and yelled, and cursed everyone. He'd asked why, and she had wanted to ask the same thing. She felt the folds of her dress, blue, not white. Meg's step was so sure. What had she been doing all these years? Christine stopped and touched the wall she'd clawed on the way by all those years ago, but her thoughts were interrupted by a shriek.

"This is where it happened!" Meg clutched at her heart.

Yes, it was where it all had happened. Christine immediately came to her side, "What is it Meg?"

"I was running down here. Two years ago. We'd-we'd just had a fight. I used to come down here a lot. It's a good place to hide. And she rushed after me." Meg gulped,"I don't know if she was mad, or trying to apologize, or what." Meg pointed a few steps down, to a step that was slightly cracked, "Mother fell, and she hit her head. She was never the same." She started to shake, "Oh god, I take it all back, I'm the worst daughter."

"Meg, sometimes people just fall. I know you did the best you could. Sad twists of fate are out of your control." Christine was momentarily at a loss, but eventually held out her hand to Meg. Places lived on even after you left them. People did too.

Meg took her hand and squeezed it, "Let's keep going."

They came to the boat on the shore soon after. Christine wrinkled her nose. Smelled of rot. She took the lantern from Meg and placed it in the boat, handed the music box to Meg, and grabbed the elderly boat pole. Her hands wrapped around it and her mind drifted. she thought of the last two times she'd been in this boat. Dragged here and pulled away. Now she would venture across the expanse herself, under her own power.

Meg looked at her, "You must be tired, I can do it if you want. I've done it a hundred times, or something like that."

"No, sit down," Christine said.

"But-"

"Meg, it's okay. Don't worry. I had twins! This is fine," she smiled at Meg, "Thanks for being chivalrous."

Meg settled in and looked down, not meeting Christine's eyes as they journeyed through the water. The cymbals in the monkey's hands glinted like two coins in the lantern light. Christine thought she could hear sniffling, at this point it could be coming from either of them. A small boat and a small flame, a pyre in the making. She focused on the work, and they were to the other side soon enough.

Christine stepped out and turned, helping Meg out too. Their hands intertwined briefly again, but were taken away. Meg was somewhere between blush and tears. Christine didn't want to turn around and face the house on the lake, but she couldn't keep looking at her old friend's face either. She turned back to the boat and snagged the lantern. She stared back at the lake. Black and inky. She took a deep breath and let it out, she shouldn't look back. She walked away, ahead of Meg, and said, "Have more matches?"

"Y-yeah," Meg replied.

"Good. I am certain there's some candles left. We don't have to completely embrace the gloom, right?" Christine nodded to herself, and finally kept going towards her past.

She was surprised how intact everything was. She would've expected everything to be destroyed by the rage filled mob. As Meg darted around lighting candle after candle the dust came into focus. Christine immediately went to the organ. She drew nearer and nearer, and glanced down at the keys. Layers of caked grime, "Meg, has anyone played it?" Christine asked.

"No, I think I'm the only one who has been down here all this time and I, well, I couldn't bring myself to try," Meg said, "I can't play anyway."

Christine lingered over the keys.

She went to the throne next. Throne, chair. Didn't really matter, it had cobwebs on it. Much more startling than the cobwebs was the old cracked doll in her shape. She felt like it had been cast aside, but here it was, sitting with its legs crossed. The thing was wearing the costume she'd discarded in a hurry all those years ago. The pinks and blacks had been sheltered by the darkness, so they were unfazed by the sun. The mannequin no longer looked like her, she realized. No longer a mirror, not yet a mother, not yet free. She grabbed it by the hair, and didn't look into its eyes. It wasn't alive. It never had been. She dragged it away, passed Meg who had averted her eyes. Meg was blushing? Christine didn't care. She took the picture of her in a time gone by and pushed it into the lake. Surprisingly, it sank right down. Christine didn't smile, but she did nod. There were no more tricks here.

She took the music box from Meg, who gave it up easily, sighing in relief. Christine had to admit, it seemed heavier than it had any right to. She placed it on the newly vacated seat where the mannequin had been sitting. She knelt in front of it, despite herself. The monkey was sitting on top of velvet, cymbals paused mid crash. She went to wind it, but her hand came away. It was wrong, to make any music here. This place had had a hum. A burning creative, _destructive_ energy. A single note could shatter what was left. All it was was memories anyway. Her hand went over the monkey's face. A grave marker. Her hand fell limply to her side, and she went to rise. But she looked back. She couldn't help it, she memorized every detail of the music box, and then stood.

Christine grasped Meg's hands and stared into her watering eyes, "It's over." Christine smiled, "Let's go home."

Christine led Meg around the room as she blew the candles out one by one. The organ disappeared into the shadow, not even trying to stop her. She went for the boat, but noticed the shine off the cymbals one last time. She finally seemed to notice the cold, and a shiver went down her spine. She brushed Meg off once again and pushed the boat back towards the land of the living. She had returned. There hadn't been anything there. There was nothing left. All was as it had to be. Now, she could attend the funeral.

Meg found another carriage and took Christine back to her home.

Adrienne and Henri were already at home. Adrienne was waiting in the living room, nervously stitching away at some indistinct project. As soon as she saw Meg she rushed to her side. Christine didn't stop them. She went for her room. The room was now free of the ghostlike monkey. Perhaps she would find sleep tonight. It was elusive, like melodies she tried to retrieve from faded childhood memories.

As she was drifting, a knock came at the door. Christine's eyes opened, "Hmm?"

"It's Meg, I'm sorry to be bothersome but, I have something else to give you. Can I come in?" Meg asked.

Meg had never asked when they were younger, because she'd never needed to. Christine had always wanted her there. Christine sat all the way up, "Come in."

Meg lit up the room, revealing a black bundle in her arms. She went to Christine's side, "Please, forgive me. All these years, I didn't know what to do. I think now I know. Now that I think-" Meg took a sharp breath, and handed the fabric to Christine.

She felt the fabric, it was oh so familiar. In the pile there was a hard edge. Her eyes widened, but she didn't move to unwrap it. Her hands moved along the edge. She didn't need to see to know. She relaxed. It was just a prop, really. The show was closed. She looked up at Meg, "How did you get this?"

"Well I-"

"No, it doesn't matter," Christine said, cutting Meg off. She placed it to the side, "Thank you Meg, and get some sleep, for my sake at least."

"I'm sorry I-"

"It's fine Meg, goodnight. Thank you." Christine ran a hand down Meg's arm reassuringly.

Meg nodded, and left without a word.

Christine did her best. She always did. No time for moping now. That's what Madame Giry had told her. No time to think. To dwell. No point to it either. There was truly nothing left, or at least nothing after tomorrow. Time for one thing.

Time to rest.

Christine could finally see the familial resemblance. Meg was all in black, hair braided in a crown. Christine was ready too, the last thing she did was retrieve the ring from where she'd left it the night before. She picked it up and put it in the bundle with the mask. She had been stoic the night before, but alone in the light of day she had looked at it, just to be sure. She had never seen it by daylight before. It was very simple, the only really unusual thing was that it was only half. That, and the fact that she could casually just have it in her hands at all. She placed the ring in the fabric folds and wrapped it back up. She would never see it again.

They went out into the wet street and went to the place where Meg's mother would be buried. Christine cradled the cloth and its contents the whole way. Meg had already agreed. All that was left was to do it.

Eventually they arrived. Stepping out into the rain, she was confronted by iron gates. She looked up. The cold water hit her face, and clouds swirled in the sky. She opened her umbrella that Henri had given her, and took a shaky step towards the cemetery.

Though it was a different cemetery, Christine couldn't help but think of the last Parisian graveyard she'd been to. So many years ago. She felt guilty. Had weeds overtaken his grave? Was he lonely? She pushed the thoughts out of her mind. She had managed to attain peace. She breathed in, "Ra-" wait, he wasn't here. She'd pushed him away. She had tried not to think of her husband and daughters during this experience, but they were creeping back into her mind. Best to stay grounded.

She stepped through the gate and made her way to the group of mourners who had already arrived. An ensemble in black. There were some familiar faces in the cast. Ballet dancers from seasons past. An understudy for Don Attilio, Monsieur Lefèvre, of all people. He was in a wheelchair and exceedingly disgruntled. A few seemed to recognize Christine, but the atmosphere was too somber for anyone to comment.

Christine said her goodbyes wordlessly in her mind. She hadn't spoken to the woman before her death, she should have, but there was no time now. The past could die, and rest. She buried the mask, and the ring, with Madame Giry. It was the best she could do. There was a bitterness, to reconciliation. There was a bitterness to moving on. There was a bitterness to having a new, better life. She hadn't gotten to say goodbye, or when she had, not the way she'd planned.

The earth covered it all now. This was it. People left one by one or in pairs. The rain was now a drizzle. Christine moved away from Meg and Adrienne. It was her mother, after all. She imagined Meg would want space. She followed Henri and the departing crowd. She needed to prepare to go home now. She had things to do, jobs, parenting. This was her vacation, after all. She stood just by the gate, facing away. She folded the umbrella and let the water drizzle down her face. A few minutes drifted by and Christine felt her breathing become easier. She was cold, yet unbothered. Then, her reverie was interrupted.

"Christine!" Meg called after her.

Christine flinched in surprise. She turned to face the slightly out of breath Meg who had went after her, she seemed to have abandoned her umbrella, so she was also exposed to the rain. She said, "Will I see you again?"

"Of course." Christine thought on it for a moment, and decided her statement would be true, she would make it true. She wanted it to be true. She brushed a soggy strand out of her face, realizing and not caring how unkempt she must look.

Startlingly, Meg rushed forward. She embraced Christine, and started to cry. Christine was momentarily frozen in shock, but relaxed and hugged back. How many times had the situation been reversed?

Meg whispered in her ear, "I'm so glad to see you again. I thought-I thought you wouldn't come. I missed you."

Christine closed her eyes and hugged tighter, her own fresh tears mixing with the rain. She smiled, "I missed you too."

They stayed that way for a few minutes, breathing in and out. Eventually Christine patted Meg's shoulder and the two drenched women pulled away from each other.

Meg looked at her drenched black dress and patted her now disheveled braided hair. She laughed, and the laughs turned into crying again quickly, "Mother would be furious! I look terrible!" she took a few breaths and calmed a bit, "Thank you, thank you so much. I'm glad you'll be coming back."

Christine opened her umbrella and spoke again, "I think I will bring my family to Paris. Perhaps they can see the Opera. Will you still be working there?"

Meg's eyes gave the ghost of a smile, "Is it the Paris Opera without a Giry?"

Christine held the umbrella over both of them and grabbed Meg's hand, "You can give us the grand tour."

Christine had many dreams upon her return. Raoul could tell because they were noisy, and so similar to ones of years past. It made his heart sink. He watched her lie to the girls about her trip, and they soon forgot to ask her about it. Raoul was agitated that she didn't tell him much of what had happened at first. She brushed him off. She threw herself into her voice, as she always did. Technique and some sense of self preservation kept her from hoarseness, but only by a little. But her dreams betrayed her.

One night after they had finally convinced the girls to go to bed Raoul confronted Christine, who had started packing for her next performance. She seemed to not notice him come into the room. He cleared his throat, "Christine, I'm not quite as foolish as you take me for."

"It's late Raoul, I have to get an early start in the morning. So much traveling, why did I even come home at all?" She said, still facing away from him.

Raoul shook his head, "Like I said, not quite as foolish. Close, but not quite. What's wrong? What did Meg say to you? What's going on?" Raoul asked her, approaching slowly.

She sat on the bed next to the open trunk, she put a hand over her eyes, "I'm just tired. You know me, I just-" she got stuck on the word, her other hand went to her face.

Raoul sat next to her and took one of her hands away from her eyes and twined it with his own.

She resisted no longer. She told him everything. Her dreams, in her dreams she was there again. Before the place had died. He was there, she was there, Meg was even there, and the music box. She kept coming back to the music box, "Do you remember it? Probably not, why would you? It was magical, it was ordinary. Strange. Velvet, and with the figure of a monkey. And the tune, it still played, after all these years. I just left it there, should I have left it there? I don't know." She would go on like this for quite some time.

Raoul stayed with her, even as the dawn sun started to filter through the curtains. Eventually, she tired herself out. She wiped her eyes, "It was for the best."

Raoul nodded, and ran a hand down her hair. They'd had other nights like this, he would lose every night of sleep if it would help her. However, she seemed to be calming down. He stood up, "I would love to show the girls the city I grew up in, especially with you."

After a while, she made some time. They made plans, life went on. She spoke softly of the music box when the dust settled, especially as she aged, more like it was an old plaything, rather than a painful memory. Raoul could almost picture it, just from her repeated words. She never spoke to him again of the two glinting eyes in the dark, watching her as she sailed away one last time.

Raoul knew it so well and had mentioned it enough that Adrienne told him when she found out it was being auctioned off with the rest during the Opera's last days. He went to buy it, just in case his wife had been right, just in case it shouldn't have been left there. When he wound it up, it played perfectly. He could remember the scene now, when he had heard it play last. Now, he had purchased it, but it wasn't his. It belonged to no one. His three children didn't know if they wanted it to be buried with their mother, but they didn't have the heart to question him.

"Papa, let's go home," Raoul's son said, gripping the wheel chair's handles.

Raoul nodded, mutely. She was buried now, in the same graveyard as her father, and her dearest friend Meg. The earth would settle and it would be like nothing had changed. He could never go home with his eyes open now. At least she had the music box for company. It truly did belong in the underworld. Perhaps the song would guide her soul to rest. It was the best he could do.


End file.
